


BRISTLE BRASLE

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dominance/submission, Dubious Content, Hinted Sticky Sex, M/M, Mech/Mech, Multi, Out of Character, Pain, Pet Play, Possessive Narcissism, Punishment, Spanking, Spanking with Object, Warped Reality (AU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: Tyrest delivers a lesson to Pharma, and the medic gets it to the end.





	

Tyrest fingers the organic object.  It had taken calling in some connections to find the wooden material in the correct size.  He leans back in the chair.  He tilts his helm to the side and regards his medic kneeling before him.  He smiles indulgently at that challenging, demure look the flyer sports as he tries to be submissive to his "gracious host" and "master".  A single digit taps at the edge of his mouth, but Tyrest remains silent. 

The nervous clank of plating shifting draws his blue optics to the corner where the pet sits in a small pout, rubbing his aft plates.  Tyrest doesn't miss the flicker of concern or lust that passes through red optics as they land on Pharma before moving quickly on.  The judge strokes the tapping digit down his own chin and neck cables. He unclasps his cloak but remains relaxed against the chair, legs crossed.  His ped even dances through the air in a patient rhythm.

"Now, Pharma," Tyrest rumbles. "what were the orders you were given regarding the pet?"

Pharma shifts in his kneeling stance. His optics shoot to the side. 'Stupid bounty hunter!' He seethes silently. He had known better than to let Lockdown into his medbay again, but he had been a little stressed with the experimenting on the Crystal Light citizen, and that grounder just seemed to show up at the perfect time to tempt him into another messy tumble on whatever service was available. With a nervous wing flick, he straightens just a bit, but keeps his hands on his lap as instructed. He clears his vocalizer. "Not to touch him."

The shuff of wood over metal catches the doctor's attention on the object in Tyrest's hand, the one that wasn't stroking alluringly over his chest panel where that spark sat and whirled, awaiting an expert touch. Pharma shifts as a nervous emotion trails through his field. He tilts his helm forward some more to show submission to his host. "You said, 'Lockdown had hunting to concentrate on, not playtime.' Which I agreed with whole sparked with."

"So tell me, Pharma," Tyrest shifts forward to rest his elbow on his knee, the smug smile on his face already telling he knew the answer to the question, "why were you two found in a heaving, tangled heap in the med bay? Sticky and smelling of fried circuits?" Tyrest clicks his glossa. "Poor Starsaber was quite up in arms about finding you in such a way. He even demanded to know what was the point of such exercises if they so interfered with the work that must be done. The work that I require to be done, to lead us to the next phase of our Great Cause."

Pharma shifts at the mention of Starsaber. A spike of jealousy flares through his field. He tries to smash it but from the further curling of Tyrest's lips, he doubts it was missed by the Chief Justice.

"It was an error on my part, Chief Justice, to allow a Decepticon free access to my medical facilities." He turns his blue optics to the side, to where Lockdown watches the two mechs silently. "It will not happen again."

The ring of wood hitting metal draws Pharma's optics sharply back to the wooden-branched stick that had just struck the judge's thigh. The narrowed blue optics regarded the medic coolly. Tyrest opens himself by planting both peds on the ground. He grips the chair's arm rests with both hands. His helm tilts so that he can catch Pharma's optics fully.

"That may be, Pharma, but I expect all of my tools to obey my orders without question." He waves a dismissive hand at Lockdown who sinks low and flares his plating in a small challenge at being dismissed so easily. "The pet is an annoyance that can be ignored or dealt a heavy hand if necessary. He can," Tyrest studies the flared plating, “be easily replaced with many from his number. But you cannot, my medic. Any failure or weakness you show must be mastered, because to replace you would be very costly. And I would rather know that my investment into you was not wasted, Pharma." Tyrest lets a fair bit of his annoyance to filter into his usually calm field. "However, other 'adjustments' could be made if you still insist on upon disobeying my direct orders."

Pharma flares his own plating in indignation at the voiced censure to his behavior - which had been mostly impeccable since he arrived here. He huffs but bites his glossa to keep the sharp reply in his processor. The scrape of metal against metal is soft as Pharma slides his hands over his thighs to lay them flat on the floor in front of his knees. He lowers his shoulders further to show submission. "And what is that I may do to relieve your irritation, my lord?"

Tyrest widens the space between his thighs. "Come to me, little tool. Crawl on those hands and knees."

Pharma's spinal strut stiffens, but he shifts forward without making any other sound. The soft tink of his knees and palms hitting the floor seems to have an effect on Tyrest whose engine revs up a notch, not that it can be even barely heard over the ecstatic turns of Lockdown's. The medic has to fight to keep from rolling his optics at the 'Con. Though, still pleased with that, he does add a tantalizing wiggle to his aft for Lockdown's benefit. 'Tease him then deny him.' Pharma focuses on Tyrest as he slides into place between the spread thighs. He takes great effort not to touch any plating.

Tyrest touches the side of his medic's helm, a bit of pleasure returning to his field. He thumbs the flyer's lips before tugging the proud chin up. "Lay yourself across my lap," he vents low.

Blue optics flicker, but Pharma stands and does as requested without complaint. He grunts at the feel of Tyrest shoving him down against pale blue thighs. Instinctively he pushes to right himself until he feels a sound smack against his aft. The ringing metal and dull thunk of the wood reach his audios and he can barely believe he was just 'spanked' until the process is repeated. Pharma cries out indignantly but lays limp across Tyrest's lap. The hand pushing him down eases and turns instead to pet along his upper spinal strut. Pharma melts in pleasure before another ringing smack makes him cry out.

Tyrest chuckles. "Is there something wrong, Pharma? Even the pet took his punishment without so much noise." He brings the switch across the back to the medic's thighs this time instead of the round of his aft. He strikes the same place hard several more times before stopping and whispering the switch over the dented plating in thought.

"Perhaps the next time you misbehave I shall have you stand the way the pet did, Pharma." Tyrest strokes along the jet's spinal strut as he continues the glancing passes with the switch. "Yes indeed. Imagine it, Pharma. You standing, bent over and hands wrapped about your ankles. Your digits digging into heel thrusters to keep yourself balanced and steady as you are punished for your misdeed." Tyrest soothes along one of Pharma's wings. He smiles smugly as the jet shifts and moans arching into the pet. He raises the switch quickly and brings it down again.

Pharma calls out and bites his lip hard. He exvents and tries to ignore the lubricant starting to bead at the edges of his valve cover from the soft pets and rough handling. 'Frag you to the pit, Lockdown! What are you making me crave?' He wants to rub his thighs together but knows how Tyrest would react to that. If the successive strikes were anything to go by.

''Perhaps... ah!'' The jet gasps. ''Perhaps if I deny any further misbehavior...'' Pharma hunkers down against Tyrest's lap and clings to the side of the chair to support himself. "M--my gracious host!"

Tyrest stalls in his swats.

"I w--would not...again," he vents to re-gather himself but stills as he feels Tyrest laughing.

"You see, Pharma, that's the beauty of knowing your tools well. You can predict their behavior." Tyrest places the switch in the dent of Pharma's knees and reaches between the trembling thighs. He fingers the burning and lubricated valve panel as he listens to his medic moan and feels him push back unknowingly into the kneading digits. "You, like most Cybertronians, are base creations, barely above the organics. Open." He gives a hard tap on Pharma's panel.

Pharma shakes his helm and keeps the valve panel secure. He leans his crest hard into the armrest as pressure is placed over the direct center of the panel. He cannot cut his vocalizer off fast enough to stop the indignant moan from escaping, nor can he stop the movement of his pelvic array against the pressure.

"Most Cy-Cy-Cybertronians, Chief Justice?" he hedges as a way to distract Tyrest from his goal.

Tyrest hums in thought but backs off not wanting to incapacitate the medic from his duties. He instead palms the panel and leans back in the chair to take in the way the flyer moves and jiggles pleasingly in his lap. "Yes most, Pharma."

Pharma shivers as charge begins to rise in his systems. He chuckles and arches his shoulders back so that he can turn his optics to the reposing judge's. With his thought processors occupied he cannot keep the quip from his vocalizer. "Does that not include you too, my gracious host?" Tarn had always advised Pharma that his glossa was too sharp for his own good. "Because, from what I've seen, you are the basest of the Cybertronians here, Tyrest," Pharma spits out the judge's designation as an insult. His field fills with satisfaction for several clicks at the surprise on Tyrest's facial derma. That satisfaction is stolen, however, when a ringing smack lands across his aft a moment later.

Tyrest brings his own hand to bare across Pharma's aft. He tucks the jet firmly into his lap when he feels the flyer slipping. He doesn't speak a glyph as he does this. After several ringing, heavy swats, Tyrest flexes his digits and eyes the mech strewn across his lap. His hand impacts once more before he grips the dented plating harshly. His own wings flare and extend in challenge to the shivering mass that is Pharma. He growls at any shift from his medic. He shutters his optics to calm any emotion from his field and frame before he slips a hand under Pharma's shoulders and rights him.

Tyrest settles his medic across his lap, ignoring the wincing and shifting. He positions him to his liking and captures the proud chin in between his digits.

"Now, Pharma," the Chief Justice makes the medic meet his focused optics. "you will behave. You will not give into the indulgences of the pet. You will obey every order without question." Tyrest tone is firm and sure.

Pharma narrows his optics in slight pain. He slicks his wings back to show his full submission, but embarrassment is keen in his frame and field. Embarrassment at being treated like a misbehaving system that had just been onlined. Pharma wishes to puff and bluster. He winces when digits tighten about his chin. "Yes, my gracious host, Chief Justice. Your will is my law."

Tyrest nods once sharply and shoos the sore medic from his lap. He watches Pharma walk stiffly into his medical office and slide the door shut with all the dignity that he could muster. He cracks a small self-indulgent smile as his optics land on Lockdown who rattles his plating at the attention. He scoffs and leans forward.

"Now, if only you could keep your digits off of him he wouldn't be so tempted, pet." Tyrest chortles and rises to settles the cape about his shoulders once more. He knew the medic would apply some desensitizing salve to his backside so there was no need to be concerned that Pharma would be unable to finish his expected duties before retiring to recharge. He clicks his glossa and snaps his digits for Lockdown to follow as he exists the med bay.

'Lesson delivered and heeded until the next time the medic needs a source of stress relief.' Tyrest muses to himself.

"Perhaps he needs a hobby," he vocalizes. "Well, Lockdown, any word yet on that sparkeater within the DJD? It would make a rather remarkable specimen of study, would it not?"


End file.
